Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight when he awoke later. An enormous sense of well-being pervading him, he stretched lazily, running through his mind several of the delicious episodes from last night’s loving.
Diana moving under him, over him, pulling his face to her breasts, crying out as he thrust into her, had been intoxicating beyond his wildest imagining. As he’d sensed the first time he touched her, the woman she’d become more than fulfilled the promise of passion in the girl he’d once loved.
Perhaps desire would diminish over time, but thus far, each meeting with her left him more enchanted. The mere thought of touching her, kissing her, tasting her was so arousing he could scarcely wait until evening. Already he was hard and aching, needy and impatient.
But it was more than just the rapture of the physical. When she awakened beside him, rosy with sleep and satisfaction, the unguarded expression of joy and wonder as she recognised him had pierced the barrier he’d erected to armour himself against her and gone straight to the heart. The awe and tenderness with which she’d traced his face and whispered his name had weakened still further the barricades restraining the tender feelings for her that, unable to fully exterminate, he’d buried deep.
She’d gazed at him as if he were her most precious dream.
As she had once been his.
His euphoria dimmed a bit. Allowing her to touch his emotions again wasn’t wise and could end badly. He’d entered this affair to purge himself of her, not to fall under the spell of a woman much more complex than the straightforward lass he’d loved. The mere thought of the devastation he’d suffered when she’d abandoned him all those years ago made him suck in a painful breath.
Well, it wouldn’t come to that—not this time. He might want to penetrate all her secrets, but he’d not risk his heart imagining they had a future.
And what of her secrets? ‘I’m not the girl I once was,’ she had told him.
That much was certainly true. She was instead a woman who had, he was reluctantly beginning to believe, suffered isolation, hardship and abuse. If he fully accepted the truth of her account, she’d endured all that to protect her father—and him.
He recalled how frantic she’d become at the thought of the danger their being together placed him in, before he convinced her that her husband was dead.
Then there was that odd ritual at the mirror, during which, she fought her way from distress back to calm.
Alone.
So you had no one, the comment came back to him—a statement she’d neither affirmed nor denied. He recalled Lady Randolph’s description of how she’d been isolated from all her former friends.
Isolated, abused—but defiant.
Pity and admiration filled him in equal measure. And despite the danger of letting her touch his emotions, he couldn’t beat back the warmth he’d felt at seeing her glow of contentment when she’d awakened in his arms. Couldn’t help the need building within him to penetrate the impassive mask and bring that expression to her face again, in the full light of day.
He couldn’t give her back the eight years she’d lost, erase the suffering she’d endured, or resurrect the innocent, carefree girl she’d once been. But before they parted, he vowed to do whatever he could to convince her she was truly free to take up all the activities she’d been denied—painting, reading, music—and embrace life fully.
As he thought of that future, a small voice deep within whispered that she must share that new life with him.
Ruthlessly, he silenced it.
He was no longer a starry-eyed young man, confident that the future would arrange itself as he wished. In the dangerous matter of Diana, he would move one cautious step at a time, holding the reins on his feelings with as tight a grip as he could manage.
He’d need that knack immediately, for it was past time for him to return to Jane’s. Though he had the run of his sister’s house and might come and go as he pleased, his absence for an entire day would not have gone unnoticed. The all-too-observant Jane would be curious where he’d been, and he’d have to manufacture an unreadable expression to prevent her from teasing out of him that he was seeing Diana again.
The mere thought of the storm of scolding and possible hysterics that admission would unleash made him shudder.
It would be more prudent to time his return for when his sister was occupied with other matters. Though he did appreciate her genuine concern for his welfare, the matter of Diana was too complicated—and Jane’s animosity towards Diana too deep—to be quickly and easily explained.
He hadn’t yet brought Jane a hostess gift. Perhaps he’d stop by the jewellers and pick up a trinket to surprise her—and hopefully distract her from any pointed questioning over the curious absences of her brother.
Chapter Ten
Accordingly, an hour later, after a brief stop to bathe and change at the Crescent, Alastair was strolling down Bond Street, bound for the jeweller recommended by his sister’s butler. Jane loved flowers; an intricate silver vase or epergne for her table should delight her enough to give him a few days’ grace from scrutiny.
Just as he turned the corner, a woman exited the shop. The black cape that swathed her, hiding her face under the overhanging hood, instantly recalled Diana and the delights they had recently shared. He was smiling at the memory when, an instant later, something about the retreating figure made him realise the woman was, in fact, Diana.
A shockingly intense gladness filling him, Alastair set off after her. But by the time he reached the corner, the lady had disappeared. With a disappointed sigh, he turned back towards the shop.
Just as well he’d missed her. Anything he said or did with her on a public street would set tongues wagging. Though he didn’t think he was known to any of the pedestrians now passing by him, he’d not noticed any acquaintances in the park the first day he met Diana, either, and word of that encounter had begun circulating immediately.
Besides, he’d rather savour seeing her tonight, when he could undress her, caress by caress. Warmed by that thought, he entered the jeweller’s establishment.
Taking one look at him, the junior clerk who greeted him sent at once for the owner. Though he tried to extinguish his curiosity, after that gentleman had shown him several fine silver pieces, one of which he selected for his sister, he couldn’t help asking casually whether the lady who’d just left the shop had purchased something similar, so beautifully wrought were the vases.
‘I’m afraid she was selling, rather than buying,’ the owner replied with a sigh—before his eyes lit. ‘I bought from her a particularly nice pearl necklace. Truly, the piece is so fine, I don’t think I’ll have it for long. A vase is a charming gift, but ladies often prefer a more...personal item. Might your sister be interested in such a necklace?’
Jane might not, but Alastair certainly was. ‘Please, do show it to me,’ he replied, his curiosity tweaked even further.
Why would Diana be selling jewellery? Whatever the reason, he knew at once he would buy the necklace back.
Beaming, the jeweller disappeared, returning a moment later with a long double-twisted strand of perfectly matched pearls.
For a moment, shock displaced curiosity, as Alastair recognised the necklace. One of the few mementos Diana had of her mother, who’d died giving her birth, the pearls had been a gift to her from her father on her sixteenth birthday. She’d mentioned several times how special it was to her. He couldn’t imagine why she would part with it.
Glad he’d encountered the jeweller before the piece had been shown to some other customer, he said, ‘You are right. It’s exquisite. I shall take that, too.’
Purchases completed, he picked up the wrapped parcel containing the vase and tucked the velvet case with the pearls in his pocket. He’d give Jane the vase just before guests arrived for dinner, leaving them only a short t
ime for conversation, then slip away when her party left for the theatre.
Already impatient to see Diana again, he was now even more eager for the day to fade into evening. He’d present her with the pearls immediately—and try to discover what circumstance could possibly have induced her to part with something that held such dear memories of her long-dead mother.
* * *
Alastair arrived at the rendezvous even earlier than the previous nights, then paced the parlour until Diana arrived. Though he’d intended to return the pearls to her immediately, the intensity of the kiss she gave him in greeting fired his simmering desire at once to irresistible need. Almost ravenous enough to take her right then and there, he restrained himself, barely, hurrying her to the bedchamber moments after she stepped in the door.
She seemed as ravenous as he was, kissing him urgently while she tugged at his neckcloth and made short work of the buttons of his trouser flap. Pushing him back to sit on the bed, she lifted her skirts and straddled him, guided him deep and rocked against him, driving them both to their peak within moments.
The next loving was nearly as swift, clothing scattered as it was removed in haste. Then after another, languid cherishing they both drifted into the sleep of the satiated.
* * *
Awaking sometime later with Diana tucked in his arms, Alastair smiled as he surveyed the chamber: candles burned low in their sconces, her gown tossed on the back of a chair, her stockings on the bedside table, his neckcloth flung into a corner. Sated for now, he knew that after they consumed the cold collation he’d had set out for them, he’d want her again.
He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Underlying desire, this odd sense of impending loss throbbed in his head like a ticking clock, as if the hours they had together would be limited this time, as they had been before, by some malevolent fate.
Nonsense, he told himself, shaking off the feeling. Eight years ago, they had both been young, still susceptible to the demands of Society and dependent upon others for their support. With him the master of his own estate, she a widow, they now controlled their own destinies, alone and together.
At that encouraging thought, Diana stirred in his arms. Waking, she opened sleepy blue eyes—those beautiful, mesmerising, intense blue eyes—and smiled at him.
Ignoring the wise intention to proceed with caution, his heart leapt with gladness.
Placing a kiss on her forehead, he eased her up against the pillows. ‘I’m famished. There’s refreshment in the next room.’
He wrapped her in his banyan, donned another, and escorted her to the sitting room, where a fire glowed on the hearth and a simple meal awaited. Though she sipped her wine and accepted bread and cheese, something in the set of her body and the guarded expression of her face suggested an underlying tension.
In a rush, he remembered the necklace. She might well be troubled by whatever had made her part with that once-cherished memento.
‘I’ve got something for you,’ he said, hopping up to find his breeches and extract the velvet pouch from the pocket.
‘What, more gifts? You really don’t have to get me things.’
‘I like to get you things—especially when you have such delightful ways of appreciating them.’
‘Ever calculating,’ she said with a smile. ‘Ingenious Alastair.’
His mouth dried and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. Ingenious Alastair... Diana had coined the nickname, and taken up by his cousins, it had stuck.
It was only one of those she’d devised, her favourite in the game they played, he praising her in verse, she describing him in different moods and circumstances: Adulating Alastair, Adamant Alastair, Eccentric Alastair. He’d joked that she would run out of adjectives, and she’d assured him she had an endless trove of them, enough to last all the years they’d spend together.
He refocused his gaze on Diana. From the stark expression on her face, he knew she was remembering, too—the lost years, the unrealised promise.
‘I’ve brought you something,’ he repeated, breaking the mood. He held out the pouch.
Uncertain—the wounded look still in her eyes—she took it from him and extracted the pearls. Colour came and went in her cheeks before she looked back up at him. ‘How did you get these?’
‘I happened to stop by the jeweller right after he purchased them. Thinking me a likely customer, he showed them to me. I knew at once they must be yours, and bought them back. Why on earth would you sell your mother’s pearls?’
The subtle agitation he’d noticed in her earlier intensified. At first he thought she’d simply refuse to answer, but after obvious struggle, she said, ‘I was short of funds. I must consult a solicitor about a matter I’d hoped to delay until...until later, but changing circumstances make the need to settle it urgent.’
‘Short of funds?’ he tossed back, his tone sharpened by a bitterness he’d not quite mastered. ‘I find it hard to believe a duke’s widow would be less than amply provided for. Graveston was exceedingly wealthy. I should think the settlements would have left you very well off.’
She shook her head. ‘In the haste of the wedding, I don’t believe settlements were ever drawn up.’
Alastair frowned. ‘It would have been exceedingly careless of your father to neglect doing that.’
‘You must remember, the Duke possessed a large number of my father’s vowels. If the Duke assured him settlements were unnecessary, he was not in a position to press the issue.’
‘In the absence of settlements, you’re still entitled to the dower. Though much of the estate, like my own, is probably tied up in land, your right to a third of it should provide more than sufficient funds to meet whatever needs you have.’
‘Perhaps. Except for the fact that the new Duke despises me. Any claims I might make against the estate, whether entitled to them or not, he would do his utmost to disapprove or delay. And I can’t afford to delay.’
‘What is it you must do that is so imperative, you would sell your mother’s pearls to accomplish it?’
She opened her lips, closed them. With short, jerky movements, she set down her wine glass and leapt up. ‘I...I must go. It’s late, and I cannot stay the night this time.’
Everything about her radiated distress. His concern intensifying, Alastair caught her arm. ‘What is it, Diana? You can tell me. Surely you know I wouldn’t break a confidence.’
Eyes wide, she stared up at him, her breathing quickening, then cast a glance through the open door, towards the dressing table.
‘Talk to me,’ Alastair urged, following the direction of her gaze. ‘I think I can be at least as much help as a mirror.’
She snapped her gaze back to him and pulled her arm free. ‘You don’t understand! I...I can’t talk to you. I can’t confide in anyone. I don’t know how any more.’
‘We used to talk easily, about everything. We can do so again. Won’t you trust me?’
The urgency of her expression became tinged with sadness. ‘Even if I could, you won’t be here for long. Why should you? This...trouble has nothing to do with you. I’ll have to face it alone. I should prepare for it alone. After all, I’ve had years of practice.’
For a moment, he had nothing to reply. She was right; he hadn’t planned for this to be more than a temporary liaison, initially one restricted only to the physical. He’d not yet resolved the conflicting desires pulling at him to embrace her, or to escape before she drew him in more deeply.
‘That may be so,’ he said at last. ‘But you’re no longer forced to be alone. You can fashion a life for yourself now, the life you want, with friends and allies and advocates. There’s no danger to them any more for helping you. If you’re going to be confronting the Duke, you’ll need allies.’
In her face, he could read the hesitation, the conflict between the urge to speak and the h
abit of withdrawal. Pressing, he continued, ‘If there’s something threatening you, a friend would want to help.’
Her eyes widened, and he knew he’d scored a hit.
‘A threat. Yes.’ She took a shuddering breath. ‘You are right. When battling a duke, one should enlist all the allies one can muster.’
‘So tell me.’
To his intense satisfaction, at length, she nodded. ‘Very well. There is a threat—but not to me.’
Anxious to have her begin before she changed her mind and fled, he urged her back to her seat. ‘What sort of threat?’ he prompted, pouring more wine and handing it to her.
‘Blankford’s—the new Duke’s—solicitor called on me today. I’m not sure how he traced me so quickly, but I anticipated the demand. He wants to take my son back to live at Graveston Court.’
‘Were you not planning to return at some point to the Dower House at Graveston anyway?’
A look of revulsion passing over her face, she shook her head. ‘I’ll never willingly set foot on the estate again. Nor do I want my son there. I’ve told you how the Duke coerced me into wedding him. His heir was raised with the same beliefs—that he possesses ultimate power and the right to do whatever he pleases with it, heedless of the desires of anyone else. Even if I didn’t fear for James, I wouldn’t want my son reared under the influence of such a man.’
Alastair raised an eyebrow. ‘Fear for him? Is he frail?’
‘No, but he might be in danger. You may remember I told you that when Graveston—the late Duke—first paid me attention, his wife was still living. Before I could become too uncomfortable with his unusual regard, it ceased, and he struck up a friendship with Papa. Guileless as he was, Papa welcomed anyone who seemed interested in the botanical studies that consumed him. Within the year, the Duke’s wife died and, using the debts Papa had accumulated, he forced me to wed him.’
A frown on her forehead, Diana leapt up and began to pace, as if the agitation within was too strong for her to remain still. ‘I was...rather oblivious of my surroundings after being brought to Graveston Court, only dimly aware of the quarrels between my husband and his heir. Blankford had not previously acknowledged my existence or exchanged a word with me, but the day he broke with his father and left Graveston for good, he tracked me down in the garden. He accused me of having bewitched the Duke, obsessing him so that he drove his first wife to her death and lost interest in his only son and heir. He warned me that he’d outlive his father, and when he inherited, he would exact vengeance for himself and his mother.’
The Rake to Rescue Her Page 10
